


A Twisted Sort of Luck

by Medie



Category: Stargate: Atlantis
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-19
Updated: 2010-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-07 09:40:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's here, she's here...neither one is supposed to be so, naturally, they are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Twisted Sort of Luck

Numb. Her entire body felt numb, as if she'd been swaddled up in cotton, insulated. Shock, explained a clinical voice inside her mind though Elizabeth wasn't really listening. The sight of John Sheppard, the last man on Earth she'd ever expect to find here, sitting there had clearly driven her into shock. The idea of him being there was incomprehensible though, logically, she knew it was possible.

General O'Neill had arrived by helicopter, John flew helicopters, John flew just about anything flyable, and therefore...

If Elizabeth were worried about logic, she'd care about that. But, the part of herself that ordinarily concerned itself with matters of logic and rational thought seemed to have disconnected itself from the rest of her brain. No doubt in an attempt to preserve what rationality it had left. John Sheppard had a nasty habit of making silly little things like logic run for the proverbial hills when it came to her. So, free of such things, she really didn't care exactly how he'd come to be there. Her focus had narrowed down to the fact that he was. And, apparently, was now watching her approach, clearly torn between reacting to her presence and to the situation he now found himself in. Facing down an irked Jack O'Neill with members of the research team watching with earnest to see what the chair would do with John in it.

Coming to a stop just behind O'Neill, Elizabeth was more than a little curious herself though curiosity was still coming a close second to shocked. She knew she should say something, that, when everything died down, the others would be curious and she reached for something, anything, to say. But, stubbornly, her brain refused to cooperate, focusing instead on the fact John was here. John was here and, apparently, had the gene.

It felt like an eternity as she fumbled for words, trying convince her legendary intellect to produce something but, apparently her intellect wasn't so legendary after all. Wouldn't that surprise a few suits in Washington.... The sudden appearance of one Air Force pilot had derailed the higher reasoning functions of Dr. Elizabeth Weir's brain. At that moment, said brain was letting shock give way in the face of a sudden rush of memories and the strong temptation to retreat into them.

John risked a glance away from the General to her, clearly half afraid to move lest he inadvertently trigger the chair to blow them all up, and beyond the confusion, aggravation and, just maybe a little embarrassment, she saw the same temptation. The memories between them were nothing if not tempting.

Her own eyes locked on his, Elizabeth finally found something to say in a demand to know just who he was, an instinctive ploy to keep their prior involvement to themselves. For appearance's sake she rationalized. But, even as she said it, she saw a flash of amusement in John's eyes and knew instantly she'd pay for that one later. He never missed an opportunity to tease her. Especially when it involved 'appearances'.

_'Another day, another diplomatic disaster to clean up, right, Doc?'_

'Something like that, yes...Captain.'

'Better you than me.'

'Why do you say that?'

'Smile like yours? That'd fix just about anything. One look at my ugly mug'd have 'em running for the nukes. Which is why you do the sweet talking and I do the fancy flying. Everybody goes home happy with all their limbs still attached and functional.'

'Imagine my relief...'

Rodney was saying something and she knew she should be listening, it was probably important. At least, to him. But, her ears seemed to be developing the same independent streak her brain had as they absolutely refused to cooperate. The wrong voice was speaking in the wrong tone...and since it was not the one they wanted to listen to...

_'Say, Lizzie...'_

'John...'

'Yeah, yeah, I know. Don't call you Lizzie. Tell you what, you give me something else to call you and I'll use that. Can't be Beth or Bethie, you don't look like either one. Elizabeth's too formal considering we're naked and all. We won't go into how many levels of absolutely dead wrong Dr. Weir would be at this moment and Liz...well, that just doesn't fit either. As I see it, Lizzie's about it...unless you want me to start makin' stuff up...Sugar Bear.'

'...Lizzie it is.'

'Thought you'd see it my way...'

Elizabeth Weir was not a woman who was given to regularly indulging in flights of fantasy. She did refer to herself as an incurable romantic, that was true, but she was an incurable romantic with a strong streak of pragmatism running through her. Her career required it of her and she took great care to cultivate it. Even when it broke her heart to do so.

Which, on at least one occasion, it had.

But, looking at John in that chair, the technology of the Ancients responding to him as if it had been made to personally serve his every whim...Elizabeth was strongly considering a revision in her stance. The idea of embracing a few flights of fancy, particularly ones that involved the idea of fate setting off a chain of events which landed John in that chair and given him the gene to make it work....well, that was an idea which had suddenly taken on a very tempting light.

Along with being an incurable romantic, Elizabeth was a firm believer in second chances and didn't miss the fact that belief dovetailed nicely into her fanciful notions and she was willing to admit that, at least this time, if fate existed...it might be playing on her side.

As the solar system sprang into all its holographically created glory over their heads, John looking up at it in perplexed surprise, she resisted the sudden and quite unexpected urge to clap her hands in delight.

Not only did he have the gene...John had just demonstrated more natural talent for the technology than any of the others. He'd done that by barely even thinking about it. Next to no effort.

John was here and, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, he was going with them.

He was going with her...

Whether he knew it or not.

—

Dr. Weir...

When the Scottish guy hollered out the name, disbelief hit him with all the subtlety of a freight train at full speed.

No way...there was no chance Elizabeth was here. No chance.

Okay, so there might be a slim chance. Or, better yet, a pretty good chance. Unless there were two women in the world who looked like the dumbfounded woman skidding to a stop behind General O'Neill. Two women with those gorgeous as all hell green eyes which looked out of a face like that...with that look in them....

Oh, who the hell was he kidding? She was here. Was, apparently, in charge, and was staring at him with a mixture of shock, disbelief, excitement and something he didn't dare put a name to in those especially gorgeous eyes of hers.

Heya, Lizzie....long time.

All things being what they were...he should've expected she'd turn up here. The good Dr. Weir had a knack for landing herself in the most complicated situations known to man and, as John quickly found out, this place? This place was the most complicated situation too classified for man to even know about...

Typical.

Scottish guy's name turned out to be Beckett. The snarky Canadian guy was McKay and, for the sake of whatever diplomatic reasoning Elizabeth had worked out in her head, he was politely informed that her name was Dr. Elizabeth Weir.

Shaking her hand a little longer than was necessary, he brushed a thumb teasingly over her skin, watching her pupils dilate in response even as she quirked a brow in warning. He even thought about calling her Lizzie, which of course he totally was, she'd have his guts for garters. Which, of course, she totally would. She'd put 'em back later, of course, but that was beside the point.

In the end, it was the presence of the others, not to mention the General, that had him holding his tongue. He'd get her later. They both knew that. Wouldn't have been the first time.

_'I can't believe you did that...'_

'Sure you can. It's me. Besides, you dared me.'

'I did not dare you to buzz the caravan!'

'Uh, yeah you did. Nice try, Lizzie, but you're not fooling anybody here. I'm on to you.'

'More like just on me...move already, I can't breathe.'

'Ouch! Watch the nails! Those things are deadly weapons. You get 'em sharpened special for this?'

'For dealing with errant flyboys...hmm, yup. I even get a discount. The woman that does it? Her son's Navy.'

'Traitor.'

She hadn't changed a bit beyond a few superficial details. Hair was shorter, she'd lost weight, a few more laugh lines...he liked those. A few of them he'd probably caused. Making Elizabeth Weir laugh had been one of his most favorite activities. She was too damn serious for her own good sometimes and, well, he was too damn flippant for his own good sometimes.

It made for a bizarre sense of symmetry but he'd just found out he had some weird alien gene thing going on and could make some kind of alien recliner light up like a frickin' Christmas tree. Bizarre was a word John was rapidly learning suddenly fit pretty much every aspect of his life.

Not that he was in any rush to admit it.

Didn't take too much thinking to realize these people were prepping for some kind of long term research mission, he'd heard enough talk bandied about between a few of them, and he had a feeling what he'd just done with the chair meant he'd just landed himself an assignment on said mission.

He wasn't sure he exactly liked that idea.

Though, part of him whispered rebelliously, whatever it was, Elizabeth was in on it and the idea of going anywhere with her again wasn't exactly all that terrible when he thought about it. But he didn't want to think about it so he shoved it into the corner of his mind usually reserved for serious matters - which this was in his opinion - and found himself right back where he started...

Gorgeous as all hell green eyes and a tentative smile and, hey, when had everybody else left?

Uh oh.

Steady boy...willpower is your friend.

Okay, so willpower was a fair weather friend who had the worst habit of ditching him right when he needed it. Like at two am staring into a box of 'just this side of spoiled, but smells ok' egg foo yung while he battled a serious case of the munchies or, facing down a diplomat with the eyes and the smile...

He was about fifty different kinds of doomed but John Sheppard would be damned if he went down without a fight. Or, at least, the appearance of one. Though, the distinctly satisfied, cat that ate the cream, look about Liz told him he wasn't fooling anybody. Not her and certainly not himself.

Well, Elizabeth's job was all about appearances and he could do appearances...she'd taught him a trick or two in that department.

_'I thought you hated that guy.'_

'I do.'

'Didn't look like it to me in there. You were doing the whole, 'oh please continue, I'm hanging on your every word, and hey did you notice the nice low cut to my dress' thing.'

'I was not...exactly. Whether I like him or not is irrelevant to the fact I need his support for this...and, anyway, he's gay.'

'He's *what*?'

'Gay. In fact...'

'Oh, you are so not going there...'

'Well, you have to admit, your ass looks really hot in that uniform.'

'You think my ass is hot?'

'Mmhmm... In fact, I have it on good authority it's quite pinchable.'

'Ouch! Watch the goods!'

'I have been...all night and I've had enough of the watching. Up for a little touching, Captain?'

'I pinch you, you pinch me...A little pinching's good for the soul...'

'Or something.'

'Never said I was a poet.'

Elizabeth had complained once that he made it hard for her to think straight. Seemed the effect was true for him as well...all his good arguments went right out the window when she touched his arm, gave him a pleading look out of those eyes of hers, and softly asked him to please go...

She really shouldn't be able to say his name like that when they were in public. There needed to be a rule. Big rule posted on the wall for all to see. 'Doctor Elizabeth Weir is forbidden from voicing the first name of Major John Sheppard in anything but the most professional tones when in public. Violations punishable by pain of death...or denial of cookies.' In fact, they should sign it into law or something. Just for moments like this when everybody had to be waiting right around the corner straining to hear him say yes, no, or gee I'd like to but I've got a root canal next Friday...

None of them, John chief among them, was expecting him to stammer out something about thinking about it.

Elizabeth looked almost disappointed that he hadn't said an immediate yes but when she nodded and turned to go...dammit, there was that satisfied look again.

He was going.

He was so going with her and she was off to make sure of it.

Oh yeah. He was so doomed.

So very, very doomed.

And yet...there he was with the happy about it.

Dammit.


End file.
